After the Golden Age

Then she found the photo of Governor Snyder, looking goofy in his pin-striped suit and too-shaggy toupee, shaking hands with Commerce City Mayor Anthony Paulson. It had been taken about eight months earlier and accompanied an article about Paulson negotiating with newly elected Governor Snyder for state funding to help with his epic revitalization program. Paulson had campaigned heavily for Snyder, and apparently called in a ton of favors upon Snyder’s election. Among the proposals Mayor Paulson had offered to help pay for the rebuilding of Commerce City’s industrial area: furloughs and pardons for a chunk of the state’s lesser criminals. Snyder was apparently happy to comply.

That added a new loop to the knot, didn’t it?

So the pardons were Mayor Paulson’s idea? But why? Was there a reason other than funding? Where was the conspiracy, except in her own mind? And wasn’t that healthy?

She called Mark. The phone rang and rang; either he wasn’t around, or he was still screening calls from her. She left a message.

“Hi, Mark. It’s me, whether or not you want to hear from me. If you’ve got the time I’ve got some research for you. I think I have the connection between all your Strad Brothers and Baxter Gang suspects. They all received pardons from Governor Snyder, at the suggestion of Mayor Paulson. Maybe you can figure out what your father was thinking. Look up these articles from the Banner.” She gave him the dates and references. Mark was a smart guy. Surely he’d give her a reasonable explanation for the so-called coincidence.

When she set off for West Plaza an hour later, she took a cab. It was much later than she’d intended; the research had drawn her in. She’d get lectured for it. Maybe she could distract her parents with the information she’d dug up.

The guard sitting at the front desk was a young man with an earnest expression. She leaned on the granite surface of the desk.

“Can I help you?” the guard said.

“Can you tell me when Damon Parks comes on duty?”

“Who?”

“Damon Parks. The security guard who works the evening shift here.”

“Oh, the old guy. I’m sorry, ma’am. He handed in his resignation today. Is there something I can help you with?”

Parks had planned it this way all along.

“Do you have a home phone number for him or something? I really need to get in touch with him.”

“I’m not sure I can give out that information—”

He’s the Hawk, goddamn it! she wanted to shout, but didn’t.

“Celia?”

That reflexive chill she always got at the sound of her father’s voice crawled up her spine. She repressed the shiver and turned around. Warren West, looking shockingly normal in a gray business suit, had entered the lobby through the front door and was walking toward her.

The security guy stood at attention. His eagerness cranked up about ten notches, which Celia hardly thought possible.

“Mr. West, sir, welcome back, sir!”

“Thanks, Joe.” Warren smiled warmly at the security guard, who seemed to be on the edge of actually swooning. The smile fell when he looked back at Celia. “Robbie says you have a story to tell.”

“Um, yeah.”

“I’ll walk you upstairs.”

In silence, they entered the private elevator that went straight to the penthouse. As the elevator began its ascent, she stole sideways glances at her father, who focused his gaze intently on the digital numbers flashing the changing floors.

He wasn’t going to believe what had happened. None of them would. Well, Arthur would.

She closed her eyes and calmed herself. Her father chose that moment to speak.

“Are you all right?”

She needed a moment to process the question. She wasn’t used to him sounding so genuinely … concerned.

“Yeah,” she said at last. “It happened so quickly it barely registered.”

“Good, I’m glad. I mean, I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Thanks.”

The elevator stopped and opened.

The penthouse doors swung in from the elevator lobby. Warren walked with her into the foyer and around the corner to the kitchen. They were there, the whole Olympiad. All wore civilian clothes. It might have been a casual supper party. Suzanne paced along the edge of the kitchen. Robbie leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. Arthur Mentis sat at the table. He smiled at her.

Suzanne’s expression melted when Celia appeared. Celia met her mother halfway and hugged her, before she could burst into tears.

“Celia, we expected you hours ago! Are you all right? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Shaken, not stirred,” Celia said weakly. “I’m fine.”

“Have you eaten? I can heat up some lasagna—”

Of course she could. “That sounds great. Thanks.”

So the meeting of the Olympiad commenced at the kitchen table, over lasagna.

“I’ve walked on that grate a hundred times,” Celia said. “Who knew it could even move? The whole thing was planned to the second. Even if you’d gotten down to the tunnel, I wasn’t there anymore. He moved me into a side room.”

“I know,” Robbie said. “I did get down there.”

“Do you know who did it?” Suzanne said.

Celia took a deep breath. “It was the Hawk.”

They stared at her.